Gilad Atzmon’s performances inspire a quirky and contradictory set of adjectives not usually applied to other jazz musicians: exuberant, belligerent, droll, generous, unapologetic, outrageous, exquisite, tragi-comic, edgy, folksy, caricatured, tumultuous… should I go on? It’s that edge-of-your-seat quality that I like so much; never quite knowing either in a solo, a setlist or his guest line-up, what’s going to happen next to deliberately disrupt the flow.

Tonight’s show was no exception, beginning with a whistle-stop tour of a few favourite cities: ‘Paris’, ‘Tel Aviv’, and ‘Moscow’. Yaron Stavi (bass), Frank Harrison (keys) and Eddie Hick (drums) who make up the other three quarters of the Orient House Ensemble, know how to conjure up a sense of place that’s vibrant and dynamic. But the OHE were just the opening act in terms of what Gilad had up his sleeve. Having warmed up his instruments (accordion, clarinet, soprano, alto), wound up his audience with some nicely non-PC jokes, and chatted up the very fine Sigamos String Quartet, arranged and led by Ros Stephen, ‘the hippies’ – Jennifer Bennett (violin and viola de gamba) and Yair Avidor (theorbo) – joined him on stage for the deconstructed and expansive ‘Scarborough (Fair)’ and ‘Leipzig’, a rendition of a portion of Bach’s St Matthew passion. The set ended impeccably with a tour through sleazy, carnivalesque ‘Berlin’.

Having reminded us of his credentials as a ridiculously good musician and bandleader, Atzmon risked turning set two into a variety show, were it not for the caliber and authenticity of his chosen acts. Opening with the wonderfully gritty songstress and collaborator Sarah Gillespie, he successfully interlaced raucous bluesy rock and roll with highly tasteful schmalz (is that a contradiction in terms?). Towards the end of a run of gorgeous ballads performed with strings à la Bird (‘I Didn’t Know What Time It Was’, ‘Laura’), I found myself longing for something rough and abrasive, when on came Norman Watt-Roy, the unstoppable rogue who ploughed around the stage while his hands moved at lightning speed over the neck of his electric bass for ‘Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick’. Atzmon’s body language subtly changed to become the Blockheads’ sax sideman, reserving his tenor and his intervalic effects-pedal for this moment, so he could rock out as a complete horn-section. By the time Wilko Johnson joined them on stage, I felt like I was at a stadium gig, and judging by Asaf Sirkis’ grinning and drumming behind them, they were all having an unexpectedly good time.

Eclectic is an understatement: everyone knows Atzmon’s not a catholic, but he has catholic taste, enjoying a broad musical church in his pleasingly defiant way that brooks no valid criticism, being far from indiscriminate. Music remains Atzmon’s escape valve, where he can work off any pent-up political turmoil and iron out residual identity issues in the most effective way possible. He’s a very compelling thinker, writer and comedian, but I sincerely hope he never stops playing jazz.

Ten years after his first appearance at Jazz Sous Les Pommiers, Charles Lloyd was back this year on the opening night of the annual French jazz festival. With mentions and murmurs of the seemingly unforgettable 2003 concert in the air, much seemed to be expected of the septuagenarian saxophonist as he took to the stage with tabla player Zakir Hussain and drummer Eric Harland.

After a brief introduction in shaky French the concert started gently as Charles Lloyd left his sax where it stood and took calmly to the piano, joined by percussion. A smooth and obviously well-planned swap meant that a few minutes later Harland was sitting at the piano as Lloyd made his way to the drum kit. Not long passed before the multi-instrumentalist frontman left the drums to pick up his flute, and, despite the lack of sax, the music started to feel distinctly Charles Lloyd-like, entering into the hypnotising and timeless space of sometimes alternating, sometimes seemingly simultaneous, frenzy and calm. This continued as Lloyd next took to the Hungarian tárogató (a reeded instrument, not unlike the soprano saxophone) and Eric Harland rediscovered the drums.

What might have been half an hour passed before Lloyd picked up his saxophone, and a feeling of long-awaited arrival seemed to hit the hall. This sense of suspended expectation and public hunger to see the maestro at his instrument felt somewhat a shame, as if, instead of recognising the music in the moment, the focus was, for some, purely on Lloyd and the saxophone-playing that they had come to hear.

If that was the case, the trio seemed nonetheless to keep the public entertained. Equally, Eric Harland and Zakir Hussain, playing as a percussion duo as Lloyd stood aside and listened, produced a sound that was captivating, charming, and was also aided by the fact that they were obviously enjoying themselves, as well as each other. As Hussain soloed, attention was focussed on the sound of the Indian tabla drums, whose soft, lulling yet driving rhythm and melody served to further the mesmerising, trance-like state induced by Lloyd's music. Demonstrating the melodic capabilities of his instruments, as well as his own mastery, Hussein added humour to the performance, playing snippets of Rossini's ‘William Tell Overture’ and a walking blues bass. Although impressive, this somewhat unorthodox display, obviously heavily conceived for a Western audience, seemed slightly superfluous to the concert as a whole. Coupled with some of the earlier instrument swapping, the performance included the occasional moment that to me appeared a little superficial and unnecessary. Some of these instances felt almost over-prepared, even circus-like: an ironic disparity between the moments that some may have considered lacking in structure and overly-chaotic.

Ultimately though, rather than detracting from the performance, this strange juxtaposition could be said to have contributed to the music's wild, yet somehow also controlled character. At times seemingly simple and magnificently calm, almost nursery-rhyme-like melodies and improvisation were coupled with more intricate rhythmic backgrounds, punctuated with complex, and near-aggressive-seeming phrases. At other times it was this unbound and unleashed emotion that took control. But with the exception of certain incongruous moments, the music never left its trance-like state, mesmerising audience and performers alike.

Snarky Puppy – KOKO, 14 March 2013

Tonight, KOKO played host to Brooklyn-based band, Snarky Puppy: these guys have exploded in England in the last few months following their sell out London Jazz Festival debut in November 2012 at XOYO. Tonight KOKO is absolutely packed, with every type of person in the crowd, from groups of hipster teenagers to pensioners. First on is Mancunian jazz trio, GoGo Penguin. Their explorations into drum ’n’ bass and other urban influenced music made interesting listening, but you couldn’t help but think that the E.S.T. style jazz trio just wasn’t the right support for fusion monsters Snarky Puppy.

As soon as Snarky Puppy stepped on to the stage the atmosphere in the room flipped. Their ability to play to a crowd is incredible, having the whole room singing along and taking part in the performance. Led by bassist Michael League this nine-piece powerhouse lay down over an hour long set of seamless groove. The composition and arranging is impeccable, creating boundlessly interesting pieces that take the listener on a euphoric journey of hip-hop, funk and jazz. The concert was recorded by BBC Radio 3 and will be played on Jez Nelson’s Jazz on 3 on the 8 April at 11pm. If you missed the gig, catch it on the radio – I know I will!

Dave Brubeck: Godfather of jazz-metal?

Jamie Skey discusses the possibility that the late great piano innovator may have inadvertently given rise to a new wave of extreme jazz metal madness

At a glance, jazz music and heavy metal don't strike one as the likeliest bedfellows. On the one hand, jazz tends to swing towards, as Ben Ratliff of The New York Times put it, 'subtlety' and 'beauty', whereas heavy metal, on the other, is rooted in disaffection and the adolescent release of impotent rage. Often as not, jazz gigs are polished affairs, staged in sober, sit-down settings – candlelit pizza restaurants, for instance, or plush, midsize theatres. Attendees of metal concerts, meanwhile, are, to put it lightly, more inclined to let their hair down; the floor space at gigs commonly resembling the adrenalin-pumped disarray of an all-against-all gang fight, thanks to what are known in the industry as 'mosh pits’, 'circle pits’, and 'walls of death'.

However, due to jazz and metal’s perplexing, highly hybridised natures, first impressions don’t matter much. Look deeper and in actuality you’ll find that between the two there are many striking, stylistic symmetries: whether it’s jazz guitar legend Pat Metheny or Tosin Abasi (architect of prog-metal trio Animals As Leaders), both genres bank on bookish musicians who wield dazzling, virtuosic technique; both genres were begat by the blues and have since deviated from it, creating thrilling harmonic expanses thanks to what Joe Lester, bassist of LA prog-metal outfit Intronaut, calls ‘tall’ melodies and ‘chord progressions beyond those that are common in pop’; and musicians of both genres are wont to trade places, whether it’s Slayer drummer Dave Lombardo moonlighting for DJ Spooky of the New York avant-jazz scene, or Alex Skolnick, six-string shredder of Bay Area thrash legends Testament, turning his hand to swinging, laid-back jazz. All of which fairly well demonstrates that the match of jazz and metal is one made in heaven.

So when did the cross-pollination of jazz and metal begin? Fusion is widely thought to have been seeded in the early-1960s by founding father of the British blues boom Graham Bond. Bond, perhaps rock’s most influential keyboardist, brought together the knock-out powers of Ginger Baker, Jack Bruce and John McLaughlin, forming the Graham Bond Organisation, whose debut album, The Sound of ’65, is essential listening for jazz aficionados and rockers alike. A year later Jimi Hendrix, who’d previously cut his teeth in Little Richard’s touring band, was, it seemed, communicating with alien life forms with his guitar, representing sonically the greatest leap in the sound of rock that had ever been witnessed. Hendrix indeed could get in the zone with the best of them, his Woodstock improvisation of ’69 proof, if it were needed, that he was much more of a fusionist than a straight-ahead blues riffer.

Later, in the late-1960s, the once ever-evolving trumpet doyen Miles Davis was turned on to Hendrix’s cosmic riffs by Davis’s then wife Betty Davis, and, as a result, so to speak, he shoved a rocket up jazz’s backside, detonating the visionary Bitches Brew in 1970. Later, Davis’s alumni, which included Tony Williams, John McLaughlin, Wayne Shorter, Chick Chorea, Herbie Hancock and Joe Zawinul, became giants in their own unique modes of playing and formed various outfits that kept on rocking in the jazz world. Likewise, at the time, Frank Zappa was tapping into a rip-roaring, jazz-rock vein with his kaleidoscopic film-for-the-ears, Hot Rats.

However, if we were to turn back time to the 1950s, another equally inventive figure was setting in motion new, astonishing rhythmic approaches to jazz composition that foreshadowed the mind-boggling fusion sound that was to come: the late, great pianist Dave Brubeck, who died 5 December 2012 aged 91. Brubeck, although dividing opinion at the time by popularising jazz, was a true pioneer, fusing classical themes and complex tempos, and might now finally be considered the godfather of maths-inspired jazz metal. For he largely did away with the conventional 4/4 metre peddled by the restrained ‘cool school’ players of the late-40s, augmenting swing and classical fugues with polyrhythms and time signatures that look like algebra: his syncopated' Blue Rondo a la Turk' darted slyly in 9/8 time, while 'Take Five', his landmark composition, could get any dance floor going despite its odd 5/4 signature.

In honour of Brubeck’s pioneering spirit and his largely unrecognised invention of math metal, we take a look at five great modern jazz-metal groups who, even if they aren’t aware of it, owe a debt to the purist-infuriating American pianist:

Animals as Leaders

Self-taught, California-based guitarist Tosin Abasi started out as a metalcore shredder for brutally technical band Reflux, before honing his quicksilver-speed skills and melodic intuition at Atlanta Institute of Music. Driven by a new confidence, he then formed his solo project, Animals as Leaders, putting his newly learned jazz and classical techniques into practise. The result: a shameless display of painstakingly assembled, hyperactive and brutal progressive metal, tempered with gorgeous jazz breakdowns and hypnotic classical figures.

Cynic

In 1993, with the release of debut album Focus, Florida-based death-metal experimenters Cynic changed the face of an entire genre. On one album, they deftly fused extreme metal, psychadelia, jazz, new age and electronic to heart-stopping effect. Due to musical and personal differences, the band went on a twelve year hiatus ending in 2006. However they didn’t disappoint fans with their 2008 follow-up to Focus, Traced In Air, a more mellow, jazz-tinged affair.

Meshuggah

Swedish extremists Meshuggah, on the face of it, have decidedly more death metal leanings than jazz tendencies. Their lead shredder, Fredrik Thordendal, however, is evidently completely in thrall to one-time Bill Bruford axeman Alan Holdsworth, in terms of tone and technique. Their industrial, bludgeoning polyrhythms are notable for the fact that essentially each member, including vocalist Jens Kidman, is an integral part of the rhythm section.

Liquid Tension Experiment

For all intents and purposes, Liquid Tension Experiment are an instrumental incarnation of flamboyant metallers Dream Theater. Featuring John Petrucci, Mike Portnoy and Jordan Rudess of the aforementioned prog rockers, with the addition of King Crimson stick bassist Tony Levin, LTE blend synapse-popping avant-garde metal with hilariously immaculate jazz improvisation, which can be enjoyed on two studio albums and a live box set.

Behold...The Arctopus

To describe this Brooklyn-based instrumental trio as complex and challenging would be the understatement of the year. Albums such as Nan-Nucleonic Cyborg Summonings and Skullgrid are frightening examples of what can be achieved when the human brain and limbs are forced to function at their very limits. Dense and assaulting, BTE are a tech-geek wet dream (or nightmare)… and then some.

Corey Mwamba’s piece, Orrery, commissioned to celebrate 30 years of Derby Jazz, connects an expansive range of ideas and local cultural heritage as well as being an exhilarating piece of creativity.

The Midlands was once at the heart of 18th century scientific thinking and the Lunar Society involved the most prominent thinkers, philosophers and industrialists of the time. Science was emerging from alchemy and our relationship to the cosmos through astronomy was being refined. With these roots Derby improviser and composer Corey Mwamba describes his piece as the musical rendition of a planetarium”.

This is a capacious work in sound, in which musicians become the planets moving physically through the concert space, orbiting the rhythmic presence of the Corey Mwamba’s trio – the heart of the sun. Mwamba has combined the musical mysteries of Coltrane, Miles and Sun Ra to create a powerful piece of improvisation with a scholarly basis in local history as well as cosmic concerns.

The piece is named after a painting called ‘A Philosopher Lecturing on the Orrery’, by celebrated mid-18th century Derby painter Joseph Wright. Regarded as a masterpiece of British art, it features a group of people being shown how the earth revolves around the sun by a travelling scientist, one of the entertainments of the day. The people are positioned like planets themselves around the clockwork Orrery, the light on their faces showing the awe of this new scientific discovery.

The sun was now known to be the center of the universe, not the Earth and the planets revolved around it. An Orrery was a device depicting this motion and must have encapsulated the magic of early astronomy, changing how people viewed themselves, their relationship with religion and the world around them. Picking up on this, Mwamba asks that we suspend our reality and engage with the expansive nature of the cosmos through the interplay of planetary musical themes.

The piece is worked around improvisations on musical motifs from six musicians playing the different planets. Mwamba conducts around variations played at different stages of their orbits as they move around the auditorium. “It’s more like waves – the audience hears a slow succession of melodies falling on them.”

Mwamba’s trio forms the Sun and rhythm section for the piece, which he conducts barefoot from behind the vibes. Joshua Blackmore also from Derby is on drums, Dave Kane on bass.

Graham Clark, plays Mercury on violin. Saturn, dark and mysterious is played by Nottingham born Tony Kofi on baritone sax. Julian Siegel is Jupiter on bass clarinet; Venus, the brightest object in the night sky is tenor sax from Jan Kopinski and Mars is played beautifully on trumpet by 17-year old Alex Suckling ¬– his face reminiscent of the children in Wright’s Orrery painting, awestruck, entranced.

Finally, Earth is improvised with gentle and soulful clarity through the voice of Deborah Jordan, who’s tones weave a superb trajectory with the other planets around the rhythmic heat of the trio’s Sun.

Mwamba has created something rich and transcendental, imaginative and deep, conducting the individual planets to variously harmonise with, react to, drown out or complement the wider musical environment.

The result is stimulating and often transporting, steeped in history, the science and art of The Enlightenment and above all, located in geographical time and space through three centuries of the county, which commissioned it.

This work is rich and otherworldly and judging from the faces in the crowded hall, is imbued with an illuminating and energising dimension.